


Mines of Angband

by aronoiiel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood and Gore, Flogging, Gen, Slavery, Torture, burned alive, gothmog is just his own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aronoiiel/pseuds/aronoiiel
Summary: They call him Demon for good reason. Rôg protects his people in the lower levels of Angband while making a fierce reputation of defiance to the denizens of the shadowed land. The punishments he suffers for his actions leave lasting marks upin him.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Mines of Angband

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Outofangband](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outofangband/gifts).



> Note: idk if the tags worked well enough but there will be flogging and blood as well as an elf burnt alive so please be careful. Also this is my very first attempt of publishing a darker piece with some toeture so please please be patient? 
> 
> I also dunno if I will add to this it depends on my moods. Thank you all for you kind words and support for my other things! 
> 
> And to @outofangband for encouragement and kindness with my darker inclinations

Bindings cut into his skin as the first lash landed on his sweat covered back. His body jerked slightly at the shock of it but no sound escaped his lips. Amber eyes blazed in furious challenge as the taskmaster stood behind him. The crack of the second lash was all that sounded in the depths of the quarry. Rôg bit down on the leather strip he had snuck into his mouth before being taken. 

The third blow landed on a more sensitive place near his side. The sharp sting a contrast the aches building elsewhere on his body. He attempted to shift to the side to ease the sting but the restraints held him still. Feet spread and shackled to rings in the ground he curled his exposed toes. Hands chained and stretched so the width of his back was as exposed as possible he tried to curl his numbed fingers to relieve the stress on his arms. Little relief was found as the fourth blow landed again in that same spot. His slight reactions were not overlooked by his tormentors. 

The anger in his eyes tempered to reassurance as he looked to those forced to watch his punishment. He did not move his head nor look long at any particular elf for fear of any being singled out. Over fifty elves had been herded to the quarry surrounded by several orcs, balrogs, and beasts leashed and drooling for a taste of blood. Rôg's body jerked and a small sound of pain was kept at bay by his clenched teeth. Was that seven? No. Eight. 

Some elves curled into themselves having seen fsr to many of their kind suffer in horrible ways in these pits. Some simply kept their eyes on Rôg refusing to allow their minds to fslter now. They would allow their emotions out in the privacy of their work. 

"I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry." Rocking as best they could in the hold of two large orcs an elf with light hair begged for forgiveness among apologies. Rôg's eyes did not longer long though his heart went to the elf. It had not been their fault. The wood had rot so thick none could have sustained the weight of another load. Rôg had stated as much many times to their taskmasters. The gems and ore had not been damaged as it derailed and collapsed the bridge. It was not anyone's fault but their keeper's. 

Rôg's interference to defend the elves held responsible was the reason for this flogging. He was sentenced to each elf's lashing bringing his total to one hundred. Split between two days. Sixty today. Fourty tomorrow. No food for the next seven days. After a thorough beating for raising his hands to the taskmasters and taking their weapons before beating the other elves. 

He regretted nothing. 

Twelve. Not even half his lashing this day. A scream of fear and agony drew his eyes to the right. The beasts had tired of waiting and had begun attacking two of the elves. Elves that were not even working in their section but had done something to make their presence here a punishment. He blinked the tears of pain and sorrow from his eyes as they met a terrible end. 

The sound of flesh hitting flesh drew his eyes to the left a soft cry of his own being swallowed by the leather strip between his teeth. Fifteen. His growing muffled cries were drowned by the ruckous. 

Orcs enjoyed suffering more than any other creature in Angband. Save Morgoth himself. They were forming a circle around two elves being beaten by three orcs. They were most likely betting how long each would survive. How much agony they would endure before fleeing their broken bodies. 

Rôg's exhausted mind began to split into several directions the repetion of blows barely holding his attention. He could feel blood trickling down his back as bruised skin split from consistent blows. It was not his first flogging but this would be his worst yet. His painfilled cries were getting more difficult to surpress. He would not give them what they wanted. He could not stop the jerking of his body. Nor the tears that escaped for growing level of agony in his back. So he remained as stoic as he could. 

Twenty five. Agony did not describe the pulsing burning in his back. He could feel more blood stinging fresh woulds as it rolled down his bruised flesh. More orcs had arrived. Many had taken to forming half circles tormenting elves as the smell of Rôg's torn back insighted a frenzy. The Balrogs kept a sharp eye that not many elves were killed in the bloodlust. They still needed the filth to mine their ore. The process was so common place it was almost numbing. 

Thirty finally halfway and his tormentor paused for a break. He knew well the taskmaster was no where near tired. It simply was time for another to take his place. Fury continued to burn in Rôg's tired eyes as his next tormentor entered the quarry. Leaping down from the rim of the pit Gothmog landed on several orcs crushing them before his body flared and burnt them to ash. Their screams brought attention and silence to everyone else. 

Gothmog's eyes lit on the shaking form of the elf sagging in his bonds. This one had caused nothing but mischief since his arrival. Quickly worming his way into the balrog commander's annoyance. "Why am I not surprised you are the one once more creating dissention among my master's slaves." The amount of amused anticipation in the statement curled sourly in Rôg's stomach. 

Gothmog moved toward his prey a grin of pure malice on his face. Reaching forward he grabbed Rôg's face cupping it in his hand. Claws dug into the soft flesh of each cheek drawing thin lines of blood. He chuckled at the defiant pain filled gaze. "Much patience have I waisted to hear your screams little Demon. I wonder at where your voice has hidden from me." Squeezing the jaw in his crushing grip Gothmog intended to force the elf's mouth open. 

Rôg bit down harder on the leather piece the pain in his jaw beginning to out weigh that of his back. The bones ground and cracked under the pressure yet he remained resolute. If Gothmog discovered his trick the punishment he would throw upon him would make this look like a mere scolding. He could feel his teeth clack together as he finally bit through the leather strip. Cringing more in response to the loss than the pain he held the disappointed gaze of the Balrog. 

Gothmog was not as disappointed as he was growing angry. This elf not only continued to injure and snark off to the taskmasters. He is also bringing forth sparks of light in the eyes of the slaves sparks they had stomped out with little effort in their cruelty. This little Demon would break. And when he did it would destroy those he encouraged. Faster than the tired, injured mind could comprehend Gothmog balled his other clawed hand into a fist and slammed it into the elf's stomach. Dropping his jaw he struck again in the middle of the elf's chest. 

Rôg' body tried to lurch forward with the blow to his stomach tensing to ease the attack. The bonds restrained him enough against his attempts. Gasping he grunted and tried to hold his breath. He could not reveal the leather he held. Light exploded in his vision as his chest was struck a second later. Mouth gaping he let out a sickly weeze of air attempting to cough as his muscles seized and contracted. 

The leather fell from his aching jaw. 

Gothmog moved his foot to the piece stomping it into an ashen dust pile. Signaling for the taskmaster that had flogged him to hold his head up the balrog general stormed over to the elf that was still apologizing profusely. Grabbing the shrieking elf's neck he returned to the struggling gasping Rôg whose head was being held high by the grip in his hair. 

"Lessons for your kin are hard learned, little elf. I do not abide games nor do I tolerate deception from my slaves." Dragging the terrified elf to stand some inches before Rôg he held the shaking thin being by the back of his neck. "This one's agony is for your deception. Rôg." He laughed at the enraged terror in Rôg's eyes before calling forth his inner fire and sending it down his arm. 

Flames licked the back of the elf's dirty old tunic lighting it almost instantly. Rôg's eyes reflected the dancing light as the being before him was engulfed in seconds the crackle of the flames drowned by the horrific cries of fear and agony. Still gasping, his chest seizing unable to expand enough to get proper air, the former Noldorin craftsmen could do nothing but allow hate filled tears to track down his dirt covered cheeks. 

Gothmog's laughter calmed to devious chuckles. Tossing the now charred bones to some hounds nearby he swung his fist into Rôg's face splitting his cheek and lip. "Defy your punishment again and I will show little recourse in burning half our current stock of pointy ears." Reaching his hand to his side he pulled out his whip. Deceptively simple looking as his power was not yet fed into it he tilted the dazed gaze of the elf to his own gleeful one. "I shall finish your punishment properly." 

Rôg's dizzying disorientation from the blows did not mask the agony swirling in his head. Paling at the balrog's words he fought to raise his eyes to those about him. The orcs were cheering and jostling one another. The elves and other beings bowed their heads. Some did not hide their tears. Some watched eyes lost minds escaping the shell of their body to avoid the sickening terror before them. 

Calling his whip to life Gothmog grinned terribly wide as three strands of fire sprung from the tip of the handle. Cracking it in the air he let sparks rain down on the fresh welts and bruises on Rôg's back. He chuckled at the hiss of air from the still stunned elf. "You will hold no sound from my whip. Should you refuse still to sing for my gathered army I will take my ire out on your kin." Without waiting for a response he raised his arm and cracked the whip down splitting open the tender flesh. Sizzling and stinking of burned skin blood tried to well up through the new wounds. The heat stemmed it quickly. 

Despite the tight bonds and numb limbs Rôg's entire body jerked forward violently. Still dazed his eyes flew wide at the burning agony in his back. Mouth opening a strangled horrific sound escaped his throat. He did not yet have enough air to scream. That changed by the third stroke. The sound that tore from his lips was worse than one of Mairon's dying beasts. 

He had thirty strokes remaining to this days punishment. By the sixth he was screaming with hardly a breath. The stench of burned bleeding flesh was overwhelming. His flesh. Shaking he did not even feel the tears that tracked like small streams down his cheeks. Pain lanced through his back and travelled to his chest. His arms. His legs. The feel of the flaming tongues of the whip set every single nerve ending in his body to agony. 

He lost count barely able to keep his hold on consciousness. The never ending fire blazing through his body felt as though he had been born into it. He could not remember anything past this torment. Darkness cut his vision down to a pinprick of light. He would give into the peace it promised if it were not for the promise of similar being done to those he had tried to defend. He held onto the edges of his frayed mind. For them. 

Gothmog drew out each stroke of his favorite weapon purposely setting as much damage to the being before him as he could without killing it. The cries were as sweet as meal to his ears. All would break under his hand though he enjoyed the ones that broke hars the most. Sending a silent command to the tongues of his whip he set upon the twenty third lashing. Making them grow long just before the stroke he watched them wrap around the back to cling to ribs. The just the edges of chest and stomach. The hiss of untouched solid muscled flesh was his favorite. Followed on its heels by a surprised agonized screetch from the elf Gothmog laughed. "Not so unbreakable now little Demon." 

Rôg's mind was a mass of agony and confusion. Fog filled his skull refusing to let coherent thought in. Instinct for survival took hold shutting down any unnecessary functions. Gothmog had finished finally yet he did not feel the blood oozing from his back to the stone below. He did not feel the burns and open wounds along his back. He simply starred ahead wondering if he was breathing. Dazed and completely removed from his mind he made little movement as his chin was once again cupped in a clawed hand. 

"You are resilient Noldor. Not many would survive the bite of whip. To remain conscious as well as continue breathing makes you far more interesting than the rest of these swill." Rôg barely heard his words so far buried in the disoriented fog of his mind all else sounded dull and far away. Gothmog shouted orders making orcs shuffle elves off to their duties and scramble to move from the Balrog general's presence. 

Several moments later Rôg thought he was falling as darkness crashed in around him. The soft musical sound of Quenyan words whispered into the edges of wakefullness he clung to. Soothed by the familiarity he tried to turn to the voice. Hands grabbed his arms pressing on a particularly painful point on his ribs. He was falling. There was no mistake. The Quenyan words caught him as he plunged into the blackness dragging him from the agony of remaining awake. He followed the sound comforted by the balm of home as he was allowed to leave the sickening reality of his new dwellings.


End file.
